Dear journal
by julielal
Summary: Harry Potter used to write in a journal. Here is the very last page. Now he is flying, he won't mind if you read it. Angst, character death, suicidary thoughts. Oneshot for my Jenna à moi.


**Semi-interesting note:** Hi, everyone! So, a little compulsory explanation about this fic. My dearest Jenna gave me lots and lots of prompts, for drabbles and such. And she gave me the words 'bird', 'freedom' and 'pregnant', requesting something longer than a drabble. And the prompts stayed in my computer, happily gathering dust, because I didn't have the remotest idea of what to do with them.

And this morning, ô miracle, during a particularly engrossing litterature lesson, I thought about these words again. I didn't manage to include pregnancy anywhere (and I bet Jenna wanted a mpreg, that will be for next time, sorry chérie) but, once I had the plot bunny, the word flowed on the page.

They flowed so rapidly I could barely reread my own handwriting afterwards, and that's saying something.

And here it is. It's not exactly much longer than a drabble, but making it longer would just have made it less intense I think.

Enjoy!

And about the angst, I completely blame Balzac.

**Summary:** Harry Potter used to write in a journal. It was a diary Hermione had given to him, but diaries are for girls, so it was his journal. This is the very last page.

Attention: angst, character death, hints of suicidary intentions.

* * *

**Journal of Mr H. Potter,**

**January 28th, 1997**

I wish I could fly. Fly away. Very, very far away.

Not on a broom or anything like that, that would be too artificial. I wish I couls fly by myself, with my own wings.

I would rise so high in the sky the world wouldn't exist anymore.

The world would disappear. Or maybe I would.

I would like that, to disappear, I think.

I would open my wings so wide I would hide the sun, and then I would let the wind carry me southwards. I want the sun.

And there wouldn't be clouds anymore. No more rain, no more storms, no more thunder. No more cold.

I feel so cold, all the time, I hate it. I haven't felt warm since that day. The day I held Ron's lifeless body against mine. The day I found Remus staring at the sky with wide, empty eyes. They're flying now, all of them. Even Tom is flying.

I never thought I would ever envy him.

I tried to become an animagus, just to see if I would turn into a bird, but I didn't manage. I guess I'm not intelligent enough. I bet Hermione would have succeded, she always did. But she won't, because she's flying too now.

I wish I could drop that burden on my shoulders, I wish someone else would carry all these jopes. They say they have faith in me to build a better future.

What if I don't want a future? I just want the sun.

I want to fly, I want to feel light and detached from all those people who look at me with that gleam on their eyes. Admiration, hope, faith. If they only knew who I am, and what I have done, they wouldn't admire me. The would fear me, and shun me, and leave me aside, and I'd like that a thousand times better.

If they hated me, then I would be free, but they don't, and I have to carry all their dreams. And dreams, let me tell you, nothing is heavier.

I'm eighteen and my shoulders are slumped like those of an old man already. I feel tired.

I want to sleep.

I want to fly.

After the battle, I saw myself in a mirror. I haven't done it since, I don't want to. The man I saw, he wasn't me. He couldn't possibly be me. His eyes were dull, his features hard, and there was something about him that screamed of pain and loss. Even Dumbledore had never looked that old.

But Merlin, I feel old, I do.

I wonder what it feels like to be young. I wouldn't know, I've never been allowed to be young. Wash the kitchen, Harry. Act as if you didn't exist, Harry. Smile to the photographer, Harry. Save us, Harry. Congratulations, Harry.

If I flied I'm sure I would feel young. No, scratch that, I would feel ageless. That would be even better.

I wonder what would have happened if I had died too that day. They probably would have lade a statue of me or something equally stupid. Because people need a sympbol. It wouldn't have been very different, I would simply have a martyr instead of being a walking wonder. I think I would have prefered that.

I wouldn't have to smile, and shake their hands, and listen to their gratefulness, and their pain, and their losses; and I wouldn't have felt like it was all my fault.

I want to fly and let the wind wash all of my thoughts away. It would be just me and the sky.

To be alone in the world, I cant' imagine anything I want more.

I found a nice cliff the other day, with the sea throwing itself against the rocks far down, and nothing but the sky for as far as the eye can see.

Once I've finished writing this, I think I'll go there.

I'll go fly.

Yes, I'll go fly.


End file.
